


Rubbing Down a Big DIRTY Truck (ASMR)

by perictione (leclairage)



Category: The Transformers (Cartoon Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Auto Repair Kink, Car Wash Kink, Just a Hint of Xenophilia, M/M, Masturbation, Off-Label Uses for Windshield Wipers, Scanning Earth Alts has Unexpected Consequences, Sticky Sexual lnterfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:40:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23970958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leclairage/pseuds/perictione
Summary: “I haven’t seen many cars as dirty as you,” whispered the human in the vid. Or, Optimus Prime discovers YouTube, makes his windshield wipers gofwip-fwip!
Relationships: Optimus Prime/Ratchet
Comments: 25
Kudos: 177
Collections: Kinks in the Wires (A free 18+ Transformers weird kinks fanzine)





	Rubbing Down a Big DIRTY Truck (ASMR)

“I haven’t seen many cars as dirty as you,” whispered the human in the vid.

Optimus did know that human-made automobiles weren’t people. 

And he knew that their internal architecture didn’t correspond to the miracle of engineering that was Cybertronian physiology. Even visually, the external elements of the human ‘cars’—so carefully mimicked by Autobot alt-modes—didn’t necessarily share a function with the parts of Cybertronian frames that had been transformed to match.

Still, Optimus found these videos...compelling. 

He didn’t understand why he found them so compelling. After all, he didn’t _want_ small organic hands rooting around in his undercarriage. The ethical implications alone—

But they were only vids.

He selected another one, and settled in as it started to play.

And it wasn’t about the ‘small organic hands’ part either—though he still found the idea of a sentient being that was so soft _all over_ to be slightly obscene. Anything that soft on a Cybertronian was private. Vulnerable. Titillating.

So, maybe he could understand why some bots liked the ‘small organic hands’ part. 

But that wasn’t what kept him coming back to this section of the human datascape. 

In the vid, the human mechanic carefully lifted the hood of the car. Optimus slid a guilty hand down to cup his blue modesty panel as the mechanic gently arranged the hood prop rod and hooked it into its latch, the thin rod keeping the hood forced up and open, spread wide, exposing—

This fixation had really all begun very innocently. He’d been investigating what washrack supplies might be readily available on this planet, and had watched some videos depicting humans washing their vehicles. In his defense, it _had_ been very informative. Some of the humans’ techniques couldn’t be applied to Cybertronian plating, but in collaboration with Ratchet, they’d been able to order enough appropriate supplies to stock the Ark’s cleaning facilities. 

And then, the humans had some very innovative substances and tools. Firm bristle brushes made for small hands, soft, textured cloths—so very much about this planet was soft, and he didn’t know how to get used to that. Not a lot of things about Cybertronians were soft. Only very specific things… And Optimus had learned about what the humans called sponges—something only sometimes made from an animal species, fortunately, and then, even Sunstreaker had come around to the idea of ‘clay’ polishing. 

But it had been satisfying to watch the vids. Relaxing. Optimus hadn’t been detailed just for the sake of it since before they’d left Cybertron, but he remembered what it was like. Watching the humans carefully wave a pressure washer over every inch of their not-at-all sentient cars gave him sensory echoes of soothing vibration against his plating. 

And then, there’d been that one vid with the loving close-up shot of a human rubbing an _exhaust pipe_ inside and out with foam, and he couldn’t deny that watching tiny bristle brushes get rubbed over sensitive kibble made him warm up a bit, and _then_ —well. Then he’d discovered _auto repair._

Optimus wasn’t the only Autobot who spent time on the Earth internet for questionable reasons. Recently Prowl had caught a giggling gaggle of overcharged minibots playing a mix of autorepair vids and actual pornography _—_ on the Ark’s big screen. Anyway, Optimus had seen some of what they’d been watching, and he’d gotten curious. 

There was a whole genre of these videos depicting humans doing every imaginable kind of maintenance on their cars. The vids ranged from the instructional to the artistic. In many of them, humans would lift the hoods of these innocent cars—whether roughly or reverently—and just casually expose all their internals to the camera! It didn’t matter that the cars’ internals didn’t even vaguely resemble his own. It was still disturbing to watch. Well. Not _just_ disturbing. He wasn’t even sure if his own front plating would open up like that in his alt-mode—the model his alt-mode was based on actually opened up even more, the hood of the truck opening out, rather than up. 

If someone opened up _his_ plating like that, they’d probably be able to see his sparklight, if not get a full view of the casing itself. And then, it was easy for Optimus to imagine that opening up his ‘hood’ would expose his array, too… 

The vid he was playing now in the privacy of his habsuite was a mix of both genres. “DEEP Cleaning a FILTHY Work Truck’s Engine Bay’’ by DetailersDream_ASMR. He’d already scandalized himself by watching a vid depicting something called an ‘oil change’ until his plating tingled. This one also opened up the car’s hood, but not for repairs. Instead the human was washing down and sudsing up the car’s engine and internals, scrubbing grime from every little crevice and carefully massaging all of its components. There were artistic close-ups of dripping foam and the soft sounds of bristles twirling over delicate parts. 

“This truck has been driven hard to build up this level of grime. Cleaning up this bay is the tender loving care it needs to keep that engine purring for a long time to come,” whispered the vid.

Optimus squirmed, and let his panel slide open. 

He gently cupped his valve. It had started to warm up, and a little of his personal lubricant had been dispensed. Just enough to get started. He gave the whole firm, plush mesh surface a little rub with the flat of his palm, and then dipped one finger gently in between the folds, getting it wet. 

He shifted his hand up, letting his palm balance on his spike housing, putting pressure on it as he slowly painted the slick over his node. Not very intense yet, but the stimulation was good, warm, fizzing over his circuits. 

On the screen, the poor wide-open vehicle was getting hosed down again. 

Hesitating a bit as he enjoyed the rhythm of the slow massage on his node, Optimus reached out with his free hand and changed the vid. 

He briefly considered switching to the one where a human whispered quietly to the viewer as they slowly, _slowly_ , wiped a windshield clean—but it wasn’t quite what he wanted. He opened “Get Like-New Windshield Wipers FAST” and let it play. 

No one opened anyone’s plating up in this one, but it was his favorite for other reasons. Still gently flicking his node, he skipped forward in the video, past all the discussion of cleaning products. The human lifted one of the wipers on the vehicle they were molesting so it stood away from the windshield. 

The camera got in close, and Optimus watched as the human put a soft wet cloth against the blade of the windshield wiper. “You’re gonna pinch the blade itself, and you’re gonna go up and down a couple of times,” the human said. 

Optimus let his free hand come up to touch one of the windshield wipers on his own chest—one of many new pieces of exterior kibble. They were...sensitive. He pulled on the wiper arm so he could touch the blade directly. 

In the vid, the human kept stroking the firm, dark mesh of the blade. Up and down, up and down. 

Optimus squirmed, imitating them, pinching the softness of his mesh between two fingers and stroking. His node started to throb. On the upstroke, he rubbed at his wiper fluid nozzles—something the car in the vid didn’t have. 

He felt lubricant start to drip out of his valve.

“We’ll manipulate the wiper blade back and forth to let your WD-40 really penetrate that hinge,” said the vid. The human was sternly pulling at the wiper arm, making it wave back and forth in the air. 

Optimus squeezed the tiny nozzle on his windshield wiper, rolling it between his fingers. A little fluid dribbled out of it, making his fingers slick. He shivered, and rubbed a little harder, a little rougher, at his node with his other hand, rocking his palm more insistently against his spike housing. 

In the vid, the camera got in close as the human showed off the improved appearance of the rubber blade, pushing and stroking it—

Just then—just _then—_ he got a ping from Ratchet. A ping from _Ratchet_.

Optimus groaned, half excitement, half disappointment. He’d been looking forward to indulging this little interest, and it _was_ supposed to be his off shift. Not that Primes got to have ‘time off.’ 

Then he actually read the ping. 

Someone was covering the end of Ratchet’s shift. Ratchet was off duty. Ratchet wanted Optimus to come meet him in his hab ‘for a cube.’ 

_Oh_.

With one last greedy rub to his node, Optimus closed up his panel, and got to unsteady feet. Human vids could absolutely wait.

  


* * *

  


“Optimus, are you _charged up_ right now?”

His finials twitched back in embarrassment. Optimus had only been in Ratchet’s hab for thirty seconds at most, and somehow, unerringly, Ratchet had been able to tell. He hadn’t even poured the fuel yet. 

“It is my off-shift,” Optimus rumbled.

Ratchet crossed his arms, looking him over critically. “And what have you been doing to get you into this state?”

“Come on, Ratchet…” Optimus complained, stepping closer to the other mech. “Obviously I was self-servicing.” 

“No, no, I’m not letting you off that easy, Optimus.” Ratchet obligingly closed the rest of the distance between them. “Tell me just what you were doing to yourself.” And he dragged a playful finger down the center of Optimus’s chest. 

Optimus tilted his head back and groaned at the ceiling. His old friend always loved to tease him. Though the payoff was always worth it, too. He was tempted to hold back and just describe how he’d released his panel and fondled his valve, or at least make Ratchet drag the details out of him, but then...thinking of telling Ratchet about what he’d been watching made his array throb. 

“I was watching some of the human vids.” Optimus looked down and saw Ratchet’s optics quirk. 

“And?” Ratchet asked.

“And...I was rubbing my node.” Optimus settled his arms around Ratchet’s waist, pulling him in.

Ratchet gave him a look. “And what _kind_ of vids were you watching?”

Okay, maybe Optimus did want Ratchet to have to drag the details out of him. 

“Humans repairing their vehicles. Washing them. Going under their plating,” he confessed. That didn’t feel like a good enough explanation, though, so on impulse he sent Ratchet a ping with a link to one of the earlier ones he’d been watching. 

“Hm.” Ratchet pulled away and led him over to a console screen to put the vid on. 

“I don’t know why my emotional co-processor is so entranced by them. You know it’s not my usual thing,” Optimus said, feeling more embarrassed now, but no less aroused.

Ratchet looked thoughtful, and he switched to his more professional voice, even as he settled one hand on Optimus’s aft and caressed him affectionately. “It’s not so complicated,” the medic said. “Mild alt-mode distress. Your alternate mode is still new, and your processor is adjusting to the new reality—plus, it’s not a Cybertronian design. Pleasure is a great tool for getting your processor to accept your new frame. You’re watching someone—okay, some _thing_ —that looks like you receive pleasure.”

“Huh.” It sounded very normal when he said it like that. 

“Don’t be afraid to scrub nice and hard on this part of the engine block, really massage the cleanser in to get this grease up,” said the vid in the background. 

Ratchet let his fingers drift down low under the curve of Optimus’s aft, and, still in his professional voice, said, “Plus, there’s the aspect of being trapped, unable to move, held open and then tenderly cared for.” Ratchet squeezed, putting delicious pressure on his panel and aft. Then, still ever so professional, “Would you like to be rubbed down in alt, Optimus? Every part of you _intimately_ attended to until you’re perfectly clean—and absolutely crawling with charge?”

“Oh, ah,” gasped Optimus. He cleared his vocalizer and revealed the last part of his fantasy. “There’s also these—my—windshield wipers.”

Ratchet frowned, momentarily distracted from his seduction. “You aren’t used to having an external frame part that engages in autonomic motion?” 

“That’s not—um. That’s inconvenient, yes, but it’s more,” Optimus covered the wipers with his hands for a moment, hiding them, “it’s more that I think something went wrong when I scanned my altmode. I think the blade is the same material as my valve mesh.”

Ratchet’s optics brightened and he looked incredulous. “And you’ve just been waiting to tell me—come on, let me see.”

Optimus took his hands away and let Ratchet take a closer look, regretting the loss of Ratchet’s hand on his aft as he shifted positions. He was already conveniently at windshield height, and Optimus couldn’t help thinking how useful that might be, if only—he looked away when Ratchet started pursing his lips in concentration. He was startled to feel a touch on the sensitive little apparatus, and he looked back down to see Ratchet frowning, stroking his exacting medic’s fingers along the soft, inner lining of the wiper blade. He manipulated the windshield wiper up and down a bit, carefully, looking at the hinge and arm that kept the blade attachment pressed against his glass. Optimus vividly remembered the mechanic in the vid. 

Ratchet carefully stroked a finger down the soft tube that was entwined with the wiper, coming from inside his chassis, through the arm, and attaching to the tiny nozzle close to the blade.

“That’s for the washer—”

“Yes, I know,” the medic replied, still focused, “I’ve noticed the feature on other Autobots. Not usually mounted like this, but still. You think it’s connected to your array?”

“Yes, I think my pleasure circuitry rerouted. I—” Optimus’s voice wavered, distracted, when Ratchet touched the delicate not-rubber blade of the wiper again, slowly. “I’ve been experimenting.” 

Ratchet’s optics flicked up to his, looking critical. “Uh huh.”

“Ratchet—”

“And why didn’t you come to me with this before?”

“We’ve been so busy since we got to this planet, and I know you’ve had more than enough to do, and nothing hurt, it all felt good—” 

Ratchet was still touching the wiper lightly. “I’ll give you a good speech about not keeping secrets from your medical professional later. But I meant more, why didn’t you invite me to play too, Optimus?” Ratchet’s voice had gone a little rough, suggestive, and Optimus shivered.

Petulant, and really starting to feel his charge now, Optimus pointed out gruffly, “We haven’t been alone together since I discovered it.”

Ratchet chuckled, low and full of promise, and drew back, removing his hands from Optimus’s chest. “We’re alone together now. Want to ‘experiment?’”

He gave Ratchet a sardonic look. “Why do you think I came down here?”

Ratchet flicked one windshield wiper. The wiper squeaked, and so did Optimus. “Someone’s impertinent today. How about we go to one of the washracks and find out how much a big, naughty truck like you likes getting rubbed down in alt-mode for real.” Ratchet lifted up the other wiper, gently squeezing the tip, until the flexible blade lost contact with the glass. He looked up into Optimus’s optics and offered up an affectionate, speaking look. “What do you say?”

Optimus felt hot up to the tips of his finials, and he could feel his array automatically react, priming itself for use. “I’d like that, old friend,” he said.

With a playful, wicked grin, Ratchet rubbed his fingers over the wiper tip, and the tiny nozzle that Optimus’s research had taught him was supposed to convey a sort of washing solution to his windshield. Optimus shivered. Then suddenly Ratchet released his hold, letting the wiper snap back into place with a _thwack_. 

Optimus choked, the sharp, sudden snap of sensation making him freeze up. The sensitive ‘rubber’ of his wiper blade was still vibrating a little, and the whole apparatus felt tense, under pressure. He knew what was coming, but it still felt unexpected as the pressure released in a glittering rush and a jet of hot, slick ‘wiper fluid’ sprayed out of his nozzle and across his windshield. 

“Sorry—that keeps happening—” Optimus started to say, but Ratchet was staring at his chest, shocked. 

His wipers _fwip-fwipped_ shamelessly, spreading fluid over the glass.

“Optimus, is that your _personal lubricant?”_

**Author's Note:**

> Any resemblance to actual YouTube videos, living or dead, is purely coincidental!
> 
> This is my entry in the incredible [Kinks in the Wires](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23966062) zine. Please go check out the beautiful zine and give the other artists and writers your appreciation! 
> 
> Huge thanks for [RHplus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RHplus/works) for betaing this fic. I love comments so much, so I will definitely love yours—let me know what you think! Find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/perictione1), and [tumblr](https://perictione.tumblr.com), and [dreamwidth](https://leclairage.dreamwidth.org)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Rubbing Down a Big DIRTY Truck (ASMR)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26651083) by [Gilraina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gilraina/pseuds/Gilraina)




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